


you could hold me here forever like you're holding me tonight

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Brienne is the Best, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, I Tried, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Safe Sane and Consensual, Subspace, The Author Regrets Nothing, Woman on Top, alternatively: good thing brienne is good at dealing with impossible people, basically this was supposed to be some porn where brienne shamelessly tops jaime, it didn't quite go like that, or better it was supposed to be written for it but stuff happened so i'm late, or what would pass for SSC in westeros anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:50:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Your… preferences are quite peculiar, aren’t they.” It’s not a question.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>“There are no men like me, aren’t they.” For a moment he thinks he shouldn’t have said it. But then there’s a split moment when they just stare at each other and then two things happen.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>First, one of Brienne’s hands moves from his hip, and the absence of the slight pain he had been feeling feels somehow very, very sharp. Second, her lips curl up in a small, fond smile that shows a hint of crooked teeth, her eyes staring straight into his.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p><i> “</i>Well<i>, you’re impossible. But - as it does seem that I spent my life doing impossible things, I should hope I can manage this as well.”</i></p>
<p>Or: where Jaime has preferences that he can't quite manage to discuss clearly with Brienne and it's his luck that she can figure him out anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you could hold me here forever like you're holding me tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, a while ago I asked for a quote for the [Jaime/Brienne quote fic challenge](http://chickren.tumblr.com/post/80727132483/how-it-works-youre-assigned-a-quote-and-then) and I got 'she's stronger than I am'. Guess where my mind went. You guessed right, straight to 'NICE I can write some porn in that spirit'. Anyway I didn't manage to work on it quite when I wanted, then Jaime/Brienne week happened and I thought 'hey there's a day where the challenge is to use a quote I can totally do both at once!', and then my computer's HD died exactly *that* week. Also when I got back I started again and it became way longer than it had any right to, so that's why I'm done this late.
> 
> Anyway, as stated I just wanted to write some straight up porn where she tops him the way they both want and deserve. It's - well, it's still porn but not quite as straight up as I had thought it'd be like a sweet summer child ~~the fact that I ended up writing the POV who doesn't want to talk shit out when half of this fic is Brienne trying to talk shit out didn't help~~. And now I'll state that I own nothing, this is most probably way too optimistic speculation and the title is from a Josh Ritter song, and I'll just saunter back downwards.

Once upon a time, when he still had two hands and their swords kissed, Jaime had come to the realization that she was stronger than he was, but only had meant it physically. And in that moment she _had_ been, not that it’d have taken that much when he had spent a year and some in chains.

The same thought occurs to him now, and the situation couldn’t be any more different, even if there are some similarities. For one, that it’s not their swords kissing but rather their mouths, and that she’s ended up on top of him as well, but it’s not because she wants to beat him in a swordfight. She’s riding him instead, her hands touching the cheap bed headboard in the northern inn they’re staying at, and she’s being extremely careful about not holding him down or putting all of her weight on him, and she’s looking down at him with wide, dark pupils, and maybe it’s because it’s just the third time they’re doing this, but she still looks like someone who can’t quite believe what’s happening.

Which is the reason why he doesn’t say, _you can hold me down_.

It’s not like he needs that or anything, and so he keeps his mouth shut, but the traitorous thought doesn’t leave then and not later, when they’re laying on the bed, the dirty sheets sticking to their skin and a snowstorm raging outside. The Others might be defeated, but winter is still here and going back to Tarth isn’t an easy affair - at least they’re warm for the moment.

That’s not the point, though.

The point is that he can’t shake the thought out of his head.

He doesn’t know if the itch to try it out is something that he wants to scratch just because or if it’s because of how it used to be with Cersei - in the few occasions they had time to indulge, she always liked to pretend that their roles were reversed, and he really hadn’t cared as long as it made her happy because what made her happy made him happy in return. He had pretended more than once to be unable to get out of her grip as she held his wrists down on the bed, and she was on top more than him, and so on, and the thing is that he liked that. He had liked having her in charge - she craved it and he never really gave a damn, and see how well his life had gone when he had responsibilities of a grown man thrusted at him when he was fifteen, so why not? It was as easy as that. And they both got off on it.

Now, though - now, if he tried it with Brienne, he wouldn’t need to pretend anything.

Because she could hold him down, and she could have done that even if he had two hands, and even if he’s come twice this evening he can’t help feeling his cock twitch as he pictures the scene and he imagines Brienne’s rough fingers keeping his wrists pinned to the headboard and her knees around his legs, making sure he couldn’t move at all.

Gods, she could do that.

But he doesn’t think he’s ever going to ask. It’s not just that really, he’s the first person she’s ever bedded and they haven’t even fucked five times yet, but it’s also that - he’s wanted it long enough and he’s not sure of how she would take such a request. The last thing he wants to do is making things complicated when they barely even know what name to put to this thing between them and when they have a long trip in front of them, and he’s not going to chance ruining things with the only person left in Westeros who still thinks something good of him. Well, fine, a lot of people in the Stark camp maybe sort of respect him after he sticked with them throughout the war against the Others, but _they_ weren’t the ones offering him a place to stay on their island when it was made clear that he wasn’t welcomed back in the Riverlands or in King’s Landing or anywhere else, were they?

He resolves to keep his mouth shut.

The problem is, he should have remembered his track record with keeping his resolutions.

A week later, they’re still not even near the once-used-to-be-Twins, they’re in another inn which cost them a lot more than it was actually worth, there’s hail falling against the windows and Brienne is still moving so very slowly over him, and suddenly one of her hands moves and presses his left wrist against the pillow - she probably wasn’t planning to do it either, and when she realizes it she lets it go and apologizes and asks if she was too fast and if it hurt, because she knows it still hurts sometimes, and -

“What? Hells, wench, you could do that again and I wouldn’t complain,” he answers without thinking - when does he ever - and then he realizes what he’s just said, and he bites down on his own tongue because if he doesn’t he’ll start cursing out loud and that would give him out, wouldn’t it?

She has stopped moving, and she’s looking down at him with a frankly unreadable expression that Jaime doesn’t like at all, because after years he had figured he maybe could read her most of the time.

He says nothing, just in case he ends up saying something he regrets.

And then.

“You - you want me to do that?”

“I - I wouldn’t say no if you did,” he answers, figuring that it’s vague enough and that she will forget this conversation.

Instead her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “That wasn’t an answer, you know.”

She also sounds half fond and half annoyed, which makes the corners of his mouth lift up on their own accord, and - well, damn, maybe he should just tell her the truth. If she could get over all the crap he pulled since he killed Aerys and still think he’s worth her time, she’s probably not going to bail just because of this, would she?

“What if I do? Want you to do that, I mean.”

Brienne takes a deep breath, looks down at him again and she still doesn’t look entirely convinced, but her pupils are still blown wide and he can barely see a sliver of blue in her eyes, so at least she’s still entirely down with the part where they keep on sharing a bed.

“Why would you want me to?”

“Well, because I happen to like it?”

“Isn’t - I mean, this is hardly what I was taught -”

“Brienne, I think we already established that your septa wasn’t worth shit in this specific instance. But if you don’t want to we can just get on with -”

“I never said _that,_ ” she interrupts, and looks down at him again, and she seems to be considering something, and then -

“Move your arms over your head,” she says, her voice wavering as she speaks, and he does, never breaking eye contact with her. He crosses his wrists over his head, and then -

Then she moves her left hand, and her palm presses against his right wrist which he’s keeping on top of the left, and then she pushes, and all of a sudden she has him in an iron grip - the pressure she’s applying is enough that he couldn’t get out of it without a struggle, and the moment her rough fingertips close over his skin he moans loud enough that if someone is in the next room over, they surely heard him.

“Is this what you want?” Brienne asks, her voice slightly shaking. He wishes he had a witty retort to it.

“Yes,” he chokes out, and he doesn’t say anything else as she nods and leans down to kiss him.

They don’t fuck this time, not properly, since their supply of moon tea won’t last forever and it wasn’t big in the first place, but as she brings him off with her other hand he comes harder than he had the last two times, and he knows she notices it. When he’s coherent enough to return the favor he’s expecting her to let him go, since it’s not like he can fuck her with his fingers when his only good hand is locked in an iron grip, but then -

Then she blushes crimson and moves forward, rearranging them so that she’s sitting over him and she’s holding his wrists against the headboard separately.

“Unless you want me to let you go -” she starts, sounding obviously embarrassed.

“Don’t even think about that,” he rasps before licking a stripe down the soft, pink flesh around her cunt, and it doesn’t take her that long to come either, and as he runs his tongue along her opening, he wonders, _will she do it again if I ask_?

For the entire first half of the next day, she blushes crimson whenever she looks at him, even if she has to ask some mundane question. By sundown, they have to camp in the middle of the road, surrounded by snow - at least it’s not as thick as it’d be in Winterfell.

At that point, he can’t help asking.

“Listen, if what happened yesterday embarrasses you this much, it’s not like we have to do it,” he says after they ate in a silence that was companionable but at the same time fraught with tension. “It’s fine. Seven hells, I don’t need you to just do whatever I want just because I want that.”

“I - I know it. Sort of. But. But that’s not the point,” she blurts out after a minute of more silence.

“Right. So what is the matter?”

“What - what if I liked it?”

Really. Now that is interesting.

“I’d say that I need you to be more specific.”

“There’s - what’s to be specific about? I liked it. More than I thought I would. I wouldn’t have even considered it. But - it’s not - I mean, I shouldn’t -”

“Don’t think about what your septa would think, wench. I asked you first, didn’t I?”

She nods, conceding him that at least.

But she doesn’t say anything else, and at this point he has to push. “What did you like about that?”

“There’s no need -”

“Humor me.”

She huffs and looks down at the dirty snow on the ground.

“I couldn’t - I couldn’t really say. It’s just -”

“You liked having a man at your mercy?” He’s only half-joking - Cersei liked it mostly because at least in the bedroom she could have the power she craved outside it, that was plenty obvious, and he could only see too well why Brienne would like that as well. It’s not like she’s been in that position much, right?

Brienne looks at him like he’s just grown another head. “No! I don’t - you think I need that to have a man... _at my mercy_? I have a sword for that, if there is the need. But it’s not like I care for that.” She stops, takes another breath. “It’s just - it was - you really have to trust someone to ask them to do that kind of thing to you. In - in that kind of situation.”

“Well, yes?”

“It was - I liked that you trusted me with it.” Her whole cheek is really the color of ripe strawberries as she looks down at their dying fire and says it, her voice barely audible.

At the same time he had expected anything but that answer, and this is dangerously getting close to a territory he’s not sure he wants to explore.

“Wench, I trusted you with my damned life and honor, I think it’s not that much of a stretch that I could trust you in my bed.”

She snorts, still not quite looking at him, but at least the tension’s broken.

He thinks about the next time they’ll be able to sleep in a bed.

He thinks he can’t wait to find out what happens.

\--

The next time they find a bed, they’re past the ruins that used to be the Twins, the inn is slightly warmer than inns used to be up North, and there’s still snow outside but no storms going on. At least that.

They tumble into bed, and they’ve kissed slowly for a few minutes when she leans back and swallows as she stares straight at him, as if she’s mustering the guts to say something but isn’t there quite yet.

So he figures he should spare her the effort.

“So, wench, about what we discussed in the woods -”

“I think,” she says very slowly, her whole cheek still blushing crimson but her eyes looking quite determined, “that I could do that again. If you ask nicely.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is,” she presses on, and - well. Fine, sure, why not going with it. 

“Fine. Brienne, would you be so gracious to grab my bloody wrists and hold me down?”

“Well, that would count as asking nicely for you, wouldn’t it,” Brienne sighs, and then she moves on top of him and eyes his already opened breeches. He moves to get rid of them, but then she grabs his right hand and pins it against the pillow.

He gets the message and stays still. She moves away and pushes away his breeches and smallclothes, gets rid of hers and then gets back on the bed again, her knees around his hips and her hands around his wrists, pinning them securely against the headboard, and the thing is that he definitely can’t move, and he couldn’t even if he were struggling, but at the same time she isn’t pushing hard enough to hurt. It’s a firm grip, but just that.

“Is this what you had in mind?” She asks a moment later.

“Yes,” he croaks out, somehow unable to come up with anything more elaborated. It’s already getting to his head, the way she’s towering over him and keeping him perfectly still without even putting much effort into it, and he knows she can feel it - his cock is pressing up against her leg.

“Fine, but - if - if for some reason you shouldn’t like it -”

“I just told you I do, in fact -”

“Jaime, if you for some reason should want me to get off you, say it,” she interrupts, and then leans down to kiss him before he can muster up a reply, and damn but for not having ever kissed anyone else before him, she’s been a rather quick study. He lets her set the pace, relishing the sensation of not having to worry about a thing, and nothing changes throughout. He enjoys every second during which Brienne’s free hand touches him going from the neck downwards, he savors every stroke around his dick while she kisses him. She still doesn’t have the technique down quite right, and it’s obvious that doing three things at once isn’t effortless, but she’s nothing if not persistent and he comes with a strangled moan inside her mouth while her fingers stroke him to completion and her other hand is keeping his wrists safely immobile against the hard wood.

She only releases his left hand so that he can bring her off after, and he doesn’t miss that she’s never been this wet before, and she was plenty wet and willing the first time they shared a bed.

\--

They’re in the midst of the Riverlands when they find another inn - Brienne had refused to go to the Kneeling Man, not that he can fault her, and so they had spent a good few days sleeping on the ground while making their way to Maidenpool.

When they get there, they’re filthy and dead tired and the week they spent sleeping on the ground hasn’t helped either of them any - he’s sure that she had nightmares about Catelyn Stark every night even if she never talks about them when she’s awake, and he didn’t fare that much better. If he doesn’t dream about failing to stop Aerys for the eighth night in a row, he’ll be plenty fucking grateful. So after they take a bath in the tub a couple maids brought upstairs - not together, it was too small, even if he kind of wishes they could have - he’s not exactly expecting for things to go past sharing a bed. She’s dead tired, he’s dead tired as well and even if he could be up for fucking he figures there’s no point in bringing it up. They might as well sleep.

So he’s not expecting it when Brienne tentatively touches one of his hands and presses it down against the pillow as she lays next to him.

“Why,” he says, “I hadn’t realized that you were in the mood.”

“I could use a distraction,” she mutters.

“A _distraction_? That’s all you think I’m good for?” He meant it as a joke, of course he did, but all of a sudden he realizes that it didn’t come out sounding quite as… not serious as he had meant it. Brienne stares straight at him for a moment, as if she’s pondering something, and then - then even if there’s a pool of deep pink rapidly spreading under the freckles of her whole cheek, her eyes look as if they’re made of steel for a moment.

Then.

“Is that all _you_ think you’re good for?” She asks, her voice low but strangely firm, and - and no, that’s really not the point at all, he’d be an idiot if he thought that for real, not when she had looked at him like he was a character from a song came to life when he finally manned up and kissed her the first time. But he can’t exactly put into words that those damned dreams made him feel pretty damn useless for the good part of the week, and there’s a part of him that will never stop thinking that losing his right hand meant losing most of what he was good for.

“Not bloody likely,” he huffs, but she doesn’t look that convinced of it, not that he sounded convinced.

Then she kicks off her shoes and rolls on her side, bringing herself on top of him again, but she doesn’t make a move to take off her clothes or anything of the kind. Or not even his. She straddles him again, her legs wrapped around his thighs, moving so that she’s covering him completely, and then she grabs his wrists and pins them down on the pillow.

“Close your eyes,” she says, and it’s striking how - how _in charge_ of things she sounds when she’s still red like a blushing maiden. Not that she’s a maiden anymore.

“You know, I think we were past -”

“That’s not the point. Just close your bloody eyes, Jaime.”

He does, if only because the tone didn’t admit replies, and it kind of _did_ go to his nether regions even if he’s entirely too tired to put some effort in trying to find some friction.

“Does this - does this feel uncomfortable?” She asks a moment later.

“No,” he answers at once. It’s everything but. He doesn’t even mind that he can’t see anything because he can feel her breathing against his cheek, he can feel her weight pressing on top of him (and she’s damn warm), and he can feel those swordsman fingertips holding his wrists down and there’s nothing about it that is not comfortable. She’s saved his life more than once by now, and he said it - he trusted her with it, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t trust her in his bed.

“Good.” She takes a deep breath. “You’re wrong. No, don’t answer me. No talking until I say so.”

He swallows and doesn’t say a thing.

“You’re wrong. And if you still think that missing a hand will always make you somewhat useless - well, you’re more of a stubborn fool than I thought you were, and I know you’re one.”

_I could say the same_ , he doesn’t say.

“It’s been years by now. You survived at least two different wars. You didn’t let yourself waste away when you lost it in the first place. And I think you remember that time you jumped into a bear pit and saved my life without it. It seems to me like you did pretty well without it.”

_And if it weren’t for you I don’t know if I’d have lasted that long_ , he wants to say, but he keeps his mouth shut - there’s something about the way she phrased that specific order that makes him want to actually follow through with it.

“Now, do I look to you like someone who likes to waste her time with distractions?”

“Not really,” he admits, figuring that she wants an answer.

“That would be right - I don’t do that. I spent most of my life dealing with men who thought that _I_ could be theirs if they so wished, and I wouldn’t do it to someone else. Least of all the only person who understood that I never wore armors for the fun of it.”

He can feel his cheeks flushing now, because it’s obvious she’s talking about him, and - that’s not really an angle he’s ever overtly thought about.

“I would have never gone through with this if I thought I was your distraction. Am I?”

“Hells no,” he answers at once - at least he didn’t need to think this one through. Of course she’s not.

“I thought so. Well, you are not mine either. And - _don’t_ open your eyes after I say this. Or during. Just don’t.”

He gives her a slight nod.

“If you _ever_ think once that I might be settling, or that I am doing this because I think I owe you for not having left after - after the Riverlands, or anything of the kind - you would be wrong. This - this is what I wanted since the moment you gave me a sword instead of roses. Don’t look at me.”

He doesn’t, but he can feel his heartbeat speeding up, and the implications of that sentence are so huge he can barely wrap his head around them, and -

She said not to talk. But.

“Was it Ronnet Connington? Giving you roses, I mean.”

She gasps audibly, but doesn’t move. Her voice wavers just slightly.

“How do you know that?”

“He used to be in my army. We passed through Harrenhaal. He asked me about the bear pit and started telling me about your not really long lived engagement. I punched him.”

“You did what?”

“Used my golden hand to punch him in the mouth. He spit out at least a couple of teeth. I like to think I am the only person around who gets to insult you like that.” He hears her laughing against his jawbone, and then the tip of her nose touches his temple.

“Then you should have my thanks, shouldn’t you?” She says quietly, and then her full, cracked lips touch his cheek so gently he can barely feel it, and - he has to open his eyes then, and he stares up into her wide, pretty blue eyes half-covered by a few strands of blonde hair plastered all over her forehead. Her nose has still visibly been broken more than once, the scar tissue on her cheek is still an angry red, her mouth his still too full and she’s looking down at him like someone who entirely means what she’s just said, and then again why would she lie, and somehow she looks the way she had in that dream of his a long time ago.

“Does that mean I have free reign when it comes to insulting you, wench?” He had planned for it to come out a lot less strangled than it does.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should earn that right,” she says, and - seven hells, it goes right to his groin, because while she still looks entirely embarrassed by what she just said the tone admitted no replies and damn but he’s so close he could come with maybe a couple thrusts against her inner thigh. And she has to feel that.

“And what should I do so that I might have the honor?”

“Never imply that you’re a bloody _distraction_ , for starters,” she says, and then - then she leans down and kisses him while her hand works his breeches. Her fingers fumble but she does get the laces open, and then he feels her hand wrapping around his cock before giving it a few clumsy, fast strokes -

And he comes all over her hand in the couple strokes he had figured it would take him.

He doesn’t know if he should feel ashamed or if he should just let himself enjoy it, but then Brienne moves back and she looks - well, amused?

“That was interesting,” she says. “And we’re both dead tired. You - you can make it up to me in the morning.”

She almost puts it like a question, her voice slightly wavering at the end, as if she wants confirmation that she understood what she’s supposed to do.

“I think it’s an oath I can safely swear,” Jaime says as she drops down on the bed next to him, and receives an elbow to his side for that, but it doesn’t hurt half as much as it could be.

The next morning he takes his sweet time bringing her off with only his fingers, and he strangely feels very well rested, and he figures that even if this is as far as they’re ever going to get, it’s plenty good enough.

It’s not.

\--

The ship for Tarth is leaving tomorrow in the morning and they managed to find an inn with a decent room and a bed that can fit them both, and since they haven’t been able to sleep in a real bed since that time in the Riverlands he’s quite looking forward to Brienne getting on with business. At least he’s sure she has to like it on some level as well, or at least that she doesn’t dislike it. Which is plenty good enough for him - at moments he had wondered if he should tell her the entire truth, if he should tell her that he wouldn’t say no if she took charge completely, but he doesn’t even know how to put it into words. He hadn’t needed to do that with Cersei and explaining it out loud sounds rather stupid, never mind that what they’re doing right now it’s already more than enough.

He has noticed Brienne staring at him a lot while he was taking his bath, but he doesn’t think much of it - after all, she has all the right to stare.

He dries himself off and doesn’t even bother putting on clothes before heading towards the bed. He sits down while Brienne rummages through her meager pack.

“Are you looking for something, wench?”

“I might,” Brienne mutters, and a moment later she stands back up. Her shoulders are kind of tense, and Jaime is about to ask why, and then she turns and the words die in his mouth.

She was looking for something all right.

A rope, for that matter.

His mouth goes completely dry in the span of seconds.

Brienne is also flushing crimson, again, but she looks plenty determined to actually go through with whatever she’s planning.

“Am I wrong or _this_ is something you might like? Because sometimes having two hands available might not hurt.”

And the thing is that he might like that. Not being tied up as much as Brienne doing it.

“What if you’re not wrong?”

“Then you should lay down.”

She’s still completely clothed except for her feet, while he doesn’t have one piece of garment on him, and for some reason it’s making him feel rather interested. He doesn’t dwell on it too much and lays down instead.

Brienne moves on to his left side, grabs his left arm and ties it to the side of the headboard efficiently - the knot is a bit loose and he could get out of it if he really pulled and put some effort in doing it, but he’s not going to do that at all, will he? For a moment he thinks, _what she’s going to do with the right_ , and he hopes that she doesn’t leave it hanging, but then she moves to his other side, ties the other rope way past the wrist and the scarred skin around his stump and ties it a lot more tighter.

“Now I wonder how you’re this good with knots,” he jokes while she secures the other half of the rope to the headboard.

“I was born on an island. I think knowing how to knot a rope might be helpful if you want to use a boat, Lannister.”

Right. Good point. He should have realized that before even asking.

“Is that uncomfortable?”

What - ah. Right. The rope around his right wrist probably. It does hurt some, but it’s nothing unbearable and it’s not like he dislikes a little pain.

“Not really. I’m fine.”

“If it’s not, say it.”

“I swear another solemn oath, wench.”

“Of course you would.”

“Seems to me like I kept it the last time I did it, though. Too bad no one but you gives me credit for keeping my oaths, huh?”

“Too bad indeed,” she answers, staring straight down at him, and - damn. She’s not joking. “So I am holding you to this one.”

Before he can nod or agree, she’s moved with the speed she usually reserves for swordfighting, her legs framing his knees, and he knows that even if he tried to get out of the restraints - which he could do - he couldn’t get out from under her, not now that she’s blocking every way out, and -

And seven hells, it feels good. If only he could just say it, _that’s exactly what I want you to do every time_ , but he can’t speak at all as it is, and then when her fingertips touch his lips he parts them enough that it’s clear that if she wants to push them in, he’s more than happy to let her. She doesn’t quite do that, just runs her thumb along his cracked lower lip, her other hand pushing ever so slightly on his shoulder and pinning it to the mattress.

“You really like this,” she says, and - well. She’s feeling the proof against her groin all over again.

“Maybe I do,” he breathes out in response.

“But it’s not everything you want,” she says, and -

“How did you -”

“Figure that out?” She interrupts, her mouth smiling ever so slightly regardless of the still rosy color of her whole cheek. “You always look like you’re holding back. I think I would know how it feels. So - you can tell me.”

“Wench, I can tell you _what_?”

“What you want, Lannister. I think you might be forgetting that conversation we had in the forest a while ago. The one where I said I liked it.”

It sounds too good to be real.

“I’m not even sure I can explain that,” he has to say, though, because he still can’t really put it into words. It’s not as if with Cersei the point was what he wanted out of it. They never talked it out. He liked it, of course he did, but it’s not as if he ever asked Cersei for anything in this sense and she never offered, and he always liked it that way so the topic was never brought up. As if there ever was a time or place to do it.

“You still can answer me, can’t you?”

Her hands move downwards, wrapping around his hips - she’s keeping a strong grip, but not enough to hurt.

“Sure. Can’t think of anything better than answering your questions, wench.”

She gives a lighthearted slap against his side and two things happen.

First, he moans out loud, and second, his cock twitches against the fabric of her breeches.

“We can safely assume you liked that,” she mutters, the red not leaving her cheeks at all. “Would you like it if it was - more?”

She looks at a loss for words, but he gets it. He gets what she means, and he thinks of the last few times he had a conversation with Cersei, and the last thing he feels like is getting slapped harder than that.

“No,” he settles on.

“But you like me to - be in charge.”

“Yes.” She’s not even asking this one question, and good thing that.

“How?”

“What?”

“You know what I mean,” she says, still looking down at him as if this is the most important conversation she’ll ever have, and the thing is that she’s right - he knows what she was meaning, indeed.

He breathes in, concentrates on the way her hands feel around his hips, on how good it feels to just let her take charge, on how he’s feeling absolutely fine with it - she did everything in her power to bring him back home back when they didn’t even like each other and she was going to fucking get hanged for his sake, there isn’t one reason why he should not make a full leap and just say it. 

“Maybe I do.”

“So answer it.” She gives another light swat to his other hip and he groans, searching for friction.

“Thought it was obvious,” he says. “I want it all.”

The silence that follows lasts a lot less than what it feels.

And damn, why can’t he read her like an open book as well?

He’s about to take it back when her hands grip tight enough to almost hurt.

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be quite demanding?” Brienne asks, but she doesn’t sound mad or like she minds it.

“More times than I can think of,” he replies truthfully. “But I wouldn’t have asked if I had not thought you were up for the task, wench.”

She does look pleased at that, and she can’t miss that some blood does rush downstairs as far as he’s concerned. She’s far from stupid. She must put two and two together, and he can pinpoint the moment it happens, her eyes going slightly wider and her lips parting just a bit. Her cheek goes redder, but she doesn’t move.

Then.

“Your… preferences are quite peculiar, aren’t they.” It’s not a question.

“There are no men like me, aren’t they.” For a moment he thinks he shouldn’t have said it. But then there’s a split moment when they just stare at each other and then two things happen.

First, one of Brienne’s hands moves from his hip, and the absence of the slight pain he had been feeling feels somehow very, very sharp. Second, her lips curl up in a small, fond smile that shows a hint of crooked teeth, her eyes staring straight into his.

“ _Well_ , you’re impossible. But - as it does seem that I spent my life doing impossible things, I should hope I can manage this as well.”

He doesn’t move an inch as she leans down and kisses him full.

He doesn’t think about the last time he thought he had everything he could possibly wish for and doesn’t try for a moment to set the pace of the kiss or anything of the kind.

The only word he can think of is _yes_.

\--

The sea is calm, but the ship is slightly rocking under the bed. Not that it bothers him - he tuned that out a long time ago and he never got seasick once. Good thing that, because considering that his bound wrists are chained to a hook that was already protruding from the wall in their cabin, being sea sick would have caused quite a problem.

“Is that tight enough?” Brienne asks. “If it’s too tight, say it.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” he replies. “Really. It is. And even if it was too tight, I’ve been through worse.”

Her eyes narrow and she moves closer on the bed’s side - she’s still fully clothed. He’s only wearing his breeches. He doesn’t mind this arrangement at all.

“I don’t doubt that, but that’s hardly the point. I’m not doing anything you would not like, Jaime.”

He’s almost about to say _you could if you wanted_ , but - it’s not like he’s used to give his opinion in this kind of situation, and he just wants to go ahead.

“I like it,” he confirms, and it’s not like he needs to lie about that.

“Fine. Then try to stay still. And even if I know I will live to regret this decision, talk if you have something to say.”

It’s almost endearing how embarrassed she looks when her voice sounds this sure and when he can see from the way she’s moving that she’s made for this.

Not that he’s going to say anything about that, not when her fingers are lightly touching across his neck and shoulders before moving downwards to his hips. He might miss the contact and her hands physically holding him down, but he can’t deny that Brienne having both hands free is an advantage, and the thing is that he hadn’t known what to expect when he said he wanted it all.

Surely he hadn’t expected Brienne taking her sweet time trailing kisses over the scars on his frame or trying to touch every inch of skin she has at her disposal - a lot -, or Brienne never even touching his erection for a while. By the time her fingers touch the head, he’s hard as a rock because of all the touching from before - he has no clue how long has she drawn circles against the small of his back or bit down softly into the skin of his hipbones, but it was a damned long time, and now he feels sensitive all over. And she might look embarrassed while she does this still, but she’s not stopping at any point soon. His skin is tingling everywhere when she leans down, moves back, tells him to stay still and then takes his cock into her mouth, so very slowly and with her hands still pressing against his thighs. He might have bruises in the morning. He doesn’t mind at all.

And then she starts sucking him off without speeding up much, still going so very slow, and it’s unnerving and at the same time it feels amazing, and he was rock hard already so it doesn’t take long for him to realize that he’s not going to last much longer.

“Hells, I’m close,” he blurts out, and he expects her to stop or something like that, but instead she goes on and he’s almost seeing stars when he comes inside her mouth, and then she moves back but just a bit and _gods_ she actually swallows, and he wishes he could see her face but it’s too overwhelming, and so he closes his eyes and lets go completely.

He breathes in deep and opens his eyes as she kisses him, feeling the salty taste on her tongue and shivering against her - he can barely feel his arms, but it somehow doesn’t matter.

And then her mouth is against his ear, her breath warm as she speaks softly.

“Do you think we could do it a second time?”

He thinks about that.

“Don’t see why not, wench.”

She snorts - he can picture her rolling her eyes.

“Then that’s what is going to happen. Do you want a break?”

“Hells, no.”

“Fine. No moving and while you can talk, keep the noise down. I hardly want to excuse myself with the captain tomorrow.”

“As the wench wishes.”

“How hilarious. Stay still.”

And he does, regardless of what she says. He closes his eyes as she runs her hands over his exposed skin, as her fingertips run across his hips before pressing on his groin. He’s not twenty anymore and it’ll take a lot longer to get hard again, but she’s nothing if not meticulous, her right hand still wrapped around his dick and her left carding through his hair, until he can feel his cock stirring, and then it doesn’t take that more coaxing to get him back to half hard - the fact that he’s over sensitive right now isn’t helping any with the whole part where he should avoid being heard. He bites down on his tongue when she licks a stripe around the head - she can probably feel him harden right in her mouth and he knows he’d moan loud enough for the entire crew to hear, never mind the captain. He stays still and only says _fuck_ and _yes_ and _please_ by this point, not that his vocabulary could be that much wider, trying to keep his voice as low as possible.

And the thing is that it’s all perfect, it’s all exactly the way he wanted it, it’s everything he ever could ask for - he likes feeling her over him, he likes how warm she is against his bare skin, he likes that she’s taking her own sweet time -, and then she moves up, her hands grabbing at his shoulders again before she slowly lowers herself on his still not fully hard dick, but it’s more than hard enough to get the job done. He bites down on his tongue again - hard enough to feel painful, but not enough to draw blood. He doesn’t mind the occasional painful, especially when it doesn’t come from her.

And then she moves closer to him - she’s so wet around him that it feels like he slides in without effort at all.

“Open your eyes.”

He does, not feeling any smart reply coming back to him.

She cants her hips down and he manages to stop the moan leaving his throat, just barely.

“Why, that’s very thoughtful of you. Well - good. That was good. Very good.”

And - for a moment he feels like his breath has totally left his lungs, and then he’s breathing again but his muscles feel slightly looser and when he looks back at her it’s - strange, but not the bad kind of. Everything but Brienne’s face feels blurred around the edges, but it feels good and the combination is seriously exhilarating. Her eyes look very blue all of a sudden, and he can barely even feel the rope around his wrists. Actually he doesn’t feel pain at all. He can somehow feel the mattress beneath his back, but that’s it, and it’s all somehow detached. Except for Brienne. She feels very much real, differently from everything else.

The thing - it feels _amazing_. It feels better than any sex has ever felt.

“Jaime? Are - is everything all right?”

He has no idea why she sounds slightly worried. She shouldn’t. She so shouldn’t.

“Yes. Yes, please, go ahead,” he manages to say. Even his speech feels slurred to his own ears but he doesn’t care at all, and when she moves again and her hips move downwards in earnest he only thinks, yes. It’s so strange - he can barely feel that he’s technically pushing into her, but at the same time there isn’t a single part of his body that doesn’t feel amazing. He likes knowing that she’s getting off because of him, and he likes the she seemed happy with how things were going before, and now nothing else matters except the feeling of her over him. He moans a little as her hands find him again, arching eagerly into the touch, and when one of her thumbs touches his bottom lip he presses a kiss to the rough skin below her nail. He thinks he says something, he doesn’t know what, and then she thrusts downwards harder and -

He comes again inside her, not as hard as before but he _feels_ it a lot stronger than before, and he thinks he says her name as she leans down to kiss him again but he can’t be sure.

He’s not really sure of anything after, either. He feels it when she undoes the knot and rubs at his wrists, he feels it when she grabs a cloth from somewhere and cleans him off as best as she can, and then - he doesn’t even think he can speak, but maybe he doesn’t need to, because when her hands almost awkwardly touch his front as she curls against his back and says something he can’t quite distinguish, he knows it’s exactly what he’d have asked for. 

He wakes up later with his head pillowed on her thigh and her hand running through his hair, and everything still feels that same kind of blurry and hazy but at the same time so very comfortable, and so he goes back to sleep.

The following morning, though, Brienne doesn’t ignore it.

“Are we going to talk about it or not?”

He wishes he could play dumb and pretend he doesn’t know what she’s referring to, except he can’t.

“What is there to say?”

“Don’t. You know what I mean. Has that - has that ever happened with you before?”

He wishes he could say that yes, it did.

“No, wench. Not that I can remember. And I wouldn’t be adverse to experiencing it again, whatever in the seven hells that was.”

“So - so it was good?”

Sore understatement. It wasn’t just good. It was - it probably sounds like something a green boy would say, but the only answer he could give, is that he’d do it again in a heartbeat, if he had a clue of how it even happened.

“Did you get the impression it wasn’t?”

“One moment everything is - well, as usual, when you’re involved, and the next - your eyes were unfocused, you couldn’t put a sentence together and I’m half-sure you would have done whatever I asked for without even blinking - how am I supposed to know? I surely never experienced that either.”

And - well, she has a point. Not like he has, right?

“It really felt good, wench,” he sighs. “I don’t know how to put it, but if that ever happens again, I won’t be the one complaining.”

Brienne looks halfway between intrigued and not entirely convinced.

“I suppose - it was the same for me,” she finally says.

“You - that happened to you as well?”

“No. Don’t you remember? I guess you wouldn’t. You looked - completely blissed, I suppose. I was - I didn’t know what to make of it, but you seemed to be enjoying it, and - well, _I_ did that, somehow, didn’t I? And - that was what felt good. It’s just - do you really trust me with you, like that?”

_Who else_?, he wants to say.

He shrugs and kisses her instead, figuring it should do the job.

But of course he does.

\--

(“Doesn’t it feel strange, though?” She asks him when Tarth is just a line on the horizon.

“What, wench?”

“That I should - I mean - not here, but everywhere else? If people knew - don’t you remember that man in the inn near the Twins?”

“The one who stared at us for the entire evening before asking me what was wrong with me, letting a woman decide where we were headed?” And who had asked him, what man would just kneel for some woman like you’re doing? Not that Jaime hadn’t done just that later, but the man didn’t need to know.

“Yes. Didn’t that bother you?”

Jaime shrugs. “Too bad for him that he didn’t realize that if I was the one calling the shots out of the two of us we wouldn’t have lasted that long. Maybe for the others it’s strange. I couldn’t care less, wench.”

“It really doesn’t bother you, does it?”

He grins at that. “I’d be bothered if it were otherwise,” he answers.

Brienne’s whole cheek flushes red, again, but she had smiled wide enough to show a bit of her teeth. He doesn’t tell her _I wouldn’t have you any other way_ , but he figures she knows that already.)

\--

He can barely move.

His hands are tied to Brienne’s bed - well, maybe it’s theirs now - with some silk stripes that she said belong to the dress she wore when she met Ronnet Connington the first time and that she ripped to pieces the day after. He found that somehow very fitting.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that his legs are spread out on the bed, two of those fingers of Brienne’s that aren’t just large but also covered in all the callouses a good swordsman should have are pushing inside him and the fact that they’re covered in oil doesn’t hide how rough they feel, and he can moan out loud as long as he likes because no one else is in this area of Evenfall Hall.

And he’s _there_ again.

He doesn’t know if it happened when she pushed the first finger in or when her free hand reached out to grip the back of his neck later, but at some point it _did_ happen, and now he’s back in that blissed out state where the world is a blur but Brienne is not and where every single thing she’s doing to him is turning into a mess.

A good mess, for that matter.

He moans out loud when she moves her fingers back and then pushes them into him at once, but he tries not to arch off the bed, or not too much.

“I was wondering,” Brienne says. “Do you think you could come just for this?”

She’s still blushing, though not as much.

He doesn’t know if he could.

He’d definitely try, though. Except that he can’t quite put it into words.

“Do you think you could try?” She asks a second later.

“Yes,” he says at once - by now she has realized that he can’t give more detailed answers when he’s like this.

“Good,” Brienne says, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth before moving and slipping her tongue past his lips. He opens up at once, letting her set the pace - she kisses him so very thoroughly before finally moving back, though her face remains inches from his. She bends her fingers inside him just slightly, hitting the right spot again.

Her free hand moves from the back of his head to the side of his face, her palm cradling his cheek so very gently, but considering that right now he feels every touch a lot more sharply than usual, the moment her skin touches his he feels like her hand is hot as fire.

“I think it should be your turn first. Then you can put that mouth to good use - how about that?”

He doesn’t even think about it - the idea is enough to make him shudder in all the good meanings of the word. He looks up at Brienne, into her eyes which are so impossibly blue and so impossibly pretty in the candlelight.

“Yes,” he blurts out again, his speech still feeling completely slurred even if it’s just one word.

“Then don’t hold back.” Brienne kisses the corner of his mouth again and then her fingers move back and forth again, then another time, and at the third he couldn’t stop himself from coming if he tried, right as her body is completely covering his own - the moment he has enough friction from his cock touching her bare skin, he lets go.

He’s feels completely loose and sated when she undoes his knots. He doesn’t protest, even if he’d have rather kept them bound.

Then Brienne grabs his left wrist and pins it with her own hands against the bedframe before moving up. She grabs his right arm and puts it around her waist, and -

“Do your best,” she says, and then she’s moving up, her free hand cupping the back of his neck again with a care that reminds him of that time she caught him in Harrenhaal’s bathtubs. He doesn’t waste time before putting his mouth to work - he’s more or less aware that were he in his regular frame of mind he’d do a much more thorough job of this. But as it is, he can’t really put that much thought into it - he settles for enthusiasm instead, running his tongue all over her clit and plunging it as far inside her as he can get, and it’s relieving that there’s nothing distracting him - not his own needs for that matter. He can just focus on Brienne’s pleasure instead of worrying about getting off. He can hear her moan above him, and say things that he can’t exactly grasp but he’s sure his name is in there somewhere. If he hadn’t come already knowing that he’s pleasuring her this much would probably bring him over the edge, but that’s not the point right now.

His mouth doesn’t move from her warm, soft flesh until she goes still for a moment and then moans loudly before starting to shake, and he stays perfectly still as she moves away enough to let him breathe. He can feel stickiness all over his mouth and his beard, but he couldn’t move if he tried, and if she let him. His wrist is released a moment later, but he keeps still, also because he can’t move at all - he’s too exhausted and too sated to do it. Everything is still so hazy and he knows he won’t come down from this for a while. Not that it matters.

Mostly because this is when his favorite part happens.

He’ll never tell Brienne that, and he’s really glad that he apparently is terrible at putting coherent sentences together when he’s not in charge of what he says. Not more than usual, anyway.

But _this_ part right here, when she grabs a wet piece of cloth and cleans them both up, and then says something about being married to a completely impossible person before her front presses against his back and she closes her arms around his waist, that’s what makes it even better. He will never tell her out loud that even if he can barely distinguish what she says, he revels in it every time she draws him close and tells him how well he’s done against his neck. Though that’s not the way it always goes. Sometimes, like now, they’re face to face, his head against her shoulder, her hand carding through his hair and her calves hooked around the back of his legs. After a while, he’ll be coherent enough to actually answer questions, and Brienne will ask him how he feels, and he’ll make sure she knows he’s never been better, and he’ll stare at the freckles peppering her skin, and he’ll lose track of time while counting them.

For now, he sighs contentedly as she wraps him in a hold he could probably escape if he tried really hard, not that he wants to or that he ever will.

So she’s stronger than he is. Good. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

End.


End file.
